


Drive Passenger

by agelade



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 9x12, Brothers, Gen, Guilt, Mental Illness, Mistrust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-10 16:18:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1161883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agelade/pseuds/agelade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean have chosen to travel together, but they aren't quite done talking.  Tag to 9x12, spoilers up to same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drive Passenger

**Drive Passenger  
A **_**Supernatural**_ **Story**  
Episode Tag for 9x12

They have decided to travel together back to the bunker. Sam is quiet in the passenger seat. Dean thinks about pulling over, maybe asking Sam if he wants to drive. It's been a long day, and he thinks he can make it about needing to get some shut-eye. But then he thinks about Sam's possible concussion, the vertigo he hasn't complained about yet but Dean can tell he's suffering from; if the way he'd stayed out of the fight and on the ground in the barn hadn't tipped Dean off, the leaning and the slow way he turned his head would have.

And he thinks about the past couple of months of Sam healing, how thin and sharp his face has gotten, how Cas probably hasn't finished with him, but if Dean knows Sam, and he thinks he still does, Sam pushed Cas away as soon as he could stand up straight, and now he's apparently taking on hunts.

"Wanna stop for the night?" he says.

"We're three hours from the bunker."

"Just wondering."

A little sigh from the passenger seat. "Do _you_ want to stop?"

"I'm good."

"That's not what I asked." Sam shifts. "If you want to stop, just say so."

Something in Sam's tone, maybe. The anger flashes. "Naaah, I wouldn't want to make a _decision_ for you-" Dean says, and stops short, because it's nasty, and mean-spirited, and he doesn't mean it, he doesn't, but he can't help it because Sam has _hurt_ him with that equal partners bullshit.

He can sense Sam staring at him, but by the time he can look over, Sam is staring into his lap, shaking his head.

Probably rethinking getting into this car.

"Dean." Sam breathes big, he always breathes big when he's holding back a killing blow. "If you want to stop, all you have to do is say, 'Sam, I want to stop. Is that okay with you?' And then I say, yeah, that's fine with me. Do you really not understand that I would basically do anything you asked me to, as long as you _asked me to_?"

"Sam-" And Dean pulls over to the shoulder. Cuts himself off with a jerk of the wheel before he says something else he'll regret. Because Sam doesn't get it, and maybe he never will, that Dean _couldn't_ have made any other choice. Because Sam would have said no to an angel, and it's good enough for Dean as long as Sam is _alive_ to be pissed at him for whatever. Better to just do it and deal with the pissyness. The Mark on his arm throbs; how similar they are, Sam had once been at Lucifer's mercy too, and Dean had failed to keep him out of Lucifer's grip, failed where Cain had succeeded, and he isn't going to fail again. Sorry Sam, just can't do it.

The highway is empty and dark. The night spreads out over them, twinkling here and there, and the moon is bright. It could almost be any night of their youth, spent idling on back roads drinking a beer, shooting the shit. Occasionally they'd have a deep conversation about where ghosts go when they got ganked, where souls go - but that was before angels, before they'd gotten proof of heaven. Now, any topic like that is dangerous, skirts the edge of something that might have broken either of them at some point, that existential crap isn't pretty supposition anymore, there's no "what if," there's only "what will we do when," and so they never talk anymore.

Dean puts the car in park and jerks his door open.

"Dean, what-"

Dean gets out, slams the door. He can hear Sam doing the same, not slamming, because he's probably got a killer headache, but he's getting out of the car, he's hovering over on his side with his hand on the door handle - Dean tries to figure that out, maybe he's worried Dean's going to get back in and leave him. Sam says, "Dean, hold on-" when Dean reaches into the backseat.

But he's not going for Sam's bag. He's not going to toss it to him and make him walk back to the last town they passed through, find a bus to wherever, hitchhike back to Lebanon. He's not doing that.

But Sam thinks he is and that hurts. Really Sam?

Dean pulls a couple of beers from the cooler in the back and holds them up so Sam can see them over the roof of the car.

"Sam," he says. "I want to talk. Is that okay with you?"

Sam rolls his eyes. "You don't have to be a jerk-"

"I'm serious."

Sam watches him, sussing him out. Then he nods, somber. "Yeah. That's fine with me."

Dean can't help rolling his eyes as Sam mimics himself. Yeah. Okay. He gets it. Even if they're serious, they're both uncomfortable with this level of touchy-feely. But they clearly don't understand each other anymore, and maybe this Dr Phil crap is necessary at this point. Like... couples counseling or something. Dean tips his head toward the trunk and Sam meets him there. They sit on the trunk each with a beer, look up at the stars for a long few moments.

The night air is cool, there's a breeze. There are fields on either side of them, strawberries on one side for miles, corn on the other, and it all smells alive and wet and sweet and green.

"I knew, okay?" Dean begins, and it sounds harsh, but Sam doesn't even flinch, just nods. "I knew you'd say no. To the angel, to saving your life, to all of it. And I couldn't-"

"You knew I'd say no, huh."

Dean glances over, but Sam is staring up at the stars, face blank. "Yeah. And I get it, believe me-"

"I don't think you do."

"So you'd have said yes? Yeah, right."

"I guess we'll never know now."

Dean laughs, bitter. "Right." He drinks from his bottle, doesn't taste it. "And another thing. I wasn't wrong to talk you out of the trials, Sam, and by the way, you didn't have to decide to stop. Okay, that was all you. So this guilt trip-"

Sam nods. "I know. I misspoke. I - you're not the only one not thinking straight, okay? You just. You have no idea how often I go along with your plans even though they're the most ridiculous, foolish things I've ever heard of. You're my big brother, and I trust you. To." He shrugs, and it's hopeless, and it hurts. "To the exclusion of my own judgment. Because I have to. Because the things I've done when I thought I was right-? It's not fair to lay that on you, but it's true. And anytime I start to think I've got a handle on things, that I could step up and take on some of the difficult decisions again, someone like Tracy shows up and-" He shakes his head. Wraps his hands around the cool bottle. "Anyway, you said stop, so I stopped."

"Sam..."

"You were stone number one, man. Who am I supposed to trust now?"

Dean rolls his eyes, shakes his head. "Wait a minute. You were using me as your moral compass? Wow, well isn't that just the most messed up thing-"

"Even without a soul." Sam shrugs, little smile at the corner of his mouth. Dean can see it, only it, poking out from under Sam's hair. "I trusted you for right and wrong, didn't I. I don't know why you're surprised about it."

"Yeah, but you didn't have your own conscience then, Sam-"

"Dean, I'm not saying I resent it. I'm saying - I'm sorry. Talking me out of finishing the Trials - you couldn't have known you had that kind of power over my decisions. Because I never told you. But the fact is, I wanted to end it."

"I am not hearing this. No. No, you _chose_ to stay with me-"

"Against my own judgment, yeah. Dean, this is going to end, our lives are going to end. If I can go out doing something that's going to save lives - it's better than most people get, Dean. You were with me on this once upon a time. But somewhere along the line, you got focused in on survival, of me, of... us? Dean, man. You came to Stull Cemetery so I wouldn't be alone. You were willing to let me go then, for a greater cause. So what changed? What _happened_?"

Dean worries the label of his beer. Stull. Lucifer. The terrifying moment just after, when Sam had succeeded in overcoming the Devil himself, only to fall into a pit. Sam gone. Not just gone, but lost to him forever. Not waiting in Heaven, but suffering torment forever and ever and - and then the months after that, and then the year after that, and -

"You said it, Sam. I let you go."

Dean glances over again, and now Sam is watching him intently, confused.

"I let you go at the worst time, I came through for you at the _worst time_. I figured out how to be your brother just in time for you to jump, and. If I'd just listened to you, if I'd just trusted you even a little bit more, if I'd tried to figure out Ruby's game rather than listen to winged dicks and jumping to conclusions - you wouldn't have been alone at that convent, or - Dammit Sam I think about this all the time, how it could have gone different. If I'd made more of an effort to be united with you, help you rather than tear you down - Maybe Cas would have jumped ship that much earlier. Like, I think he - he was using me as a yardstick for humanity, the stupid bastard. And I could have showed him how to rebel against what he was being told, I could have - and then he'd have spilled the beans about Lilith way sooner, and we'd have known better, and we'd have worked together, and-"

"Dean." Sam's voice is soft, he's looking into his lap. "Lilith would have died no matter what. What we were gonna do? Protect her while she goes on vacation in little girls' bodies? Provide round the clock security service? Hope she doesn't off herself to get the whole thing moving? I was always going to end up jumping. You have to know that."

"Stop, Sam stop it. Don't you dare tell me there's nothing I could have done, there's nothing I could do if you - just don't. I am _always_ going to save you. I don't care what it takes."

"Well, I do."

Dean closes his eyes. He doesn't know that they've actually fixed anything with this stupid touchy feely crap. He just feels worse, and Sam looks like he feels worse, or more resigned, or something. He never wants to do this again.

"Anyway, I let you go. That's what happened. I thought I was doing the right thing, letting you make your own decisions like a real grown up, but it was stupid. _I_ was stupid. You made that decision after months of guilt getting heaped up on you for something we _both_ did, something you never meant to have happen. And when you came back-" Dean breathes, slow. "I was changed the moment the dirt closed up after you in that cemetery, Sam. Somethin' changed in me. I don't know who I am without you. I don't know who that man was who said go ahead and jump. He's not me, not anymore. And I've been trying so hard not to be _that_ man, I've been something else, maybe something worse."

"Dean-"

"Don't. Okay? I should have said no and locked you up and promised you we'd figure out another way."

Sam presses his lips together. Dean can't figure out what he's thinking, and he doesn't like the feeling of being watched the way Sam is watching him.

Then Sam laughs short, a burst of manic sound. "Part of me really wanted you to do that," he says, and laughs again.

Dean laughs too, and they are these nervous little barks of laughter being tossed back and forth between them like glass balls. It doesn't take long for their echoes to dissipate over the flat farmland. Dean drinks. Sam drinks.

"Anyway, I might have said yes, is what I was saying," Sam says.

"What?"

Sam looks at him, like _haven't you heard anything I just said_. "I'm saying, I trusted you, probably more than I should have, sure. And definitely against my own judgment. But if you'd made your argument, I'd have probably gone along with it no matter how much I didn't want to."

"And that's better?"

Sam shrugs, laughs a little. "Marginally. But at least you'd have been being honest with me. And then the fallout would have been my fault, for accepting, for just giving in to whatever, for not thinking for myself - it would have been my fault, and I can hate myself, Dean. But I can't handle hating you. I can't. I can't handle not being able to trust you-"

"You _hate_ me?"

"No, no, I'm saying-"

Sam cuts himself off, and Dean is shocked silent by the H-word. They don't do the whole "love" thing or whatever, but that _also_ means they don't do the whole "hate" thing. Fuck. It takes him a moment to recover.

"Okay. I'm ignoring that you said that-"

Sam's shoulders droop in relief. "Thanks. I didn't mean-"

"But you're saying I had you pegged wrong when I thought you wouldn't accept an angel ridin' you?"

Sam winks up an eye. "Can you _not_ say it like that? I've taken like fifty showers and I still feel gross."

"Fine, princess."

Sam rewards him with an impressive glare, then sighs and looks up at the stars again, formulating a response. "I guess that's not - you were right to think that might be the one thing I'd be most unwilling to do. I mean, it'd make sense, after..." He falters.

Dean looks at him, full on looks at him, because Sam isn't so often lost for words, and they don't talk about Lucifer. Sam is staring at nothing. Not at stars, not into his lap. Just staring, lost in his own little world.

"You're sayin' that like it's not true," Dean says.

Sam nods. "I thought it would be, but. Now, I know. The worst thing I can think of, the worst thing that's ever happened to me - it's not having an angel inside me, Dean. It's - It's not knowing if this is _real_ -"

His voice cracks, and Dean's hand tightens around his bottle.

"Dean, how do I - I don't even know if he's really gone. I - What if this is just a hallucination, just a dream that he's gone and you're here, and everything's okay, just so I won't _fight_. How do I know I'm really free?"

"Sam-"

"How do I know you're even _here_? How do I know you're real? We went on _hunts_ , Dean, with victims and details and blood and - I wake up _fighting_ him, dreaming that all of this has been some pocket reality where I've been living thinking I'm free. And there's no pain that can separate this out for me, there's no scar that I can ground myself with - there's nothing. And I just live like it's real because what else am I supposed to do? But I'm always watching for the thing that's wrong, the thing that will tell me that this isn't really happening, _always_. And-" Sam's breathing brittle, holding it together, but barely. "You're the thing that's wrong, Dean. You gave up. _You_ split, _you_ left. But-" Sam pauses, like it's the last chance he has not to step onto the sketchy bridge, the last chance to turn back. And then he plunges on. " _I'm_ the one who runs, Dean. So, Gadreel screwed up. And you're the thing that's wrong, and none of this is real-"

"Hold on, hold on. Sam. He's gone, I saw it with my own eyes-"

"That's exactly what fake-you would say, Dean." He says it like he's sorry. Like _Watcha gonna do? Hallucinations, am I right?_

"What the hell, Sam?"

"What do you want me to say, Dean? That I don't think I'll ever know for sure that anything is real, and it terrifies me? Okay. It's true. And you can't help me, because - because-"

"Yeah. I get it."

"Anything you do would be guaranteed to either not work at all, or look like it's working, to either prove to me that there's nothing to fight, or show that I was right and give me the _illusion_ that I'm fighting _Dean_ do you have any idea what it's like not to know-"

"What am I supposed to do with this? Huh Sam? What can I do about this?"

Sam looks at him and then away, tracking something Dean can't see. His eyes are shining in the moonlight, a hopeless wreck with that terrible hopeless not-smile. "I don't know. I don't know."

Fuck. Fuck. _God, what did I do._ "Sammy, look at me."

"I can't live like this. I can't do this again. Nothing feels real. I can't. I can't."

"Stop. Stop talking like that. Okay? Listen. You said you trusted me. So _trust me_. At least enough to know I wouldn't let you stay trapped inside yourself any longer than I had to, okay? If this isn't real - and it _is,_ Sam, it is - But if it's not. Then I'm out there, and I'm gonna save you. Okay? You have to believe that."

Sam looks at him. His hand is shaking when he brings it up to touch the corner of his eye where wet has gathered. He nods. "I believe _that_. If nothing else, I believe that." He laughs just a little. "But."

"What."

"What if." He looks at Dean. "What if I've already killed you? Like Kevin. What if you're-"

"Then Cas will find my ass in Heaven and I will tell him to figure out how to save you."

"What if I killed him too? Dean what if everyone's dead, what if this angel could somehow let Lucifer out and it's the apocalypse out there, what if there's no one left, because I _killed_ them and-"

"Hey. Stop. First of all, _you_ didn't kill Kevin, and even if this-" He waves at the sky and the fields and the road. "Even if this isn't real and that angel dick has killed people, that wouldn't be on you either, got it? All of this is on me. I get that you're seeing the blood on your hands, but you gotta start washing it off, Sam. Step one is to stop saying it was you." Dean waits for Sam to stop looking so doubtful, waits for him to finally nod even if he doesn't look like he quite believes it yet. "And second, if I _am_ dead? I would figure out a way, okay? I'd stay here as a ghost and haunt Crowley until he figured it out. Or I'd ride the Axis Mondo or whatever until I found God's ugly mug and pointed him right at you and I'd squeeze his nuts so hard he'd puke, unless he saved you, Sam. You gotta believe me. I would never. Ever. Let you stay like that."

Sam is still watching him, these moments where Sam isn't a freakishly tall muscular dude, but instead looks about nine years old, hanging on his big brother's every word. These moments are what Dean lives for. Sam catches a breath. Nods.

"Okay. Okay." Dean puts his hand on Sam's back, testing the waters. Damned if Sam doesn't lean into it. So Dean leans in whole hog and bumps their shoulders together. "Let's make up a plan, and you only go along with the parts you like." He nods to cue Sam; Sam nods. "You go ahead and keep a good look out, Sammy. And you tell me if something seems like it's wrong, like it's not real. Because on the chance that this _is_ real, then real-me wants to know when you're having doubts about it. Not-" he says quickly, when Sam opens his mouth to argue. "Not because I want to try to convince you of anything, okay? Just so I know not to be a dick at that particular moment when you're not up to dealing with it. Sound good?"

Sam looks at him. Frowns.

"What. That's what fake-me would say?"

Sam licks his lips. "No."

Dean grins. Rolls his eyes.

"So that's it? That's the whole plan?"

"What do you want? If I'm fake-me, whatever plan I come up with is gonna be bullshit. And if I'm real me, there's nothing to rescue you from but your own crazy. Sooooo yeah. That's the whole plan."

Sam seems to consider this. "Sounds reasonable."

"Not like fake-me at all, right?"

Sam laughs, a little.

"And if it isn't real, if this is all just... some dream that angel dick has you trapped in, just remember I'm gonna save you, no matter what."

"No matter what." Sam nods. And he's not okay. But maybe he'll never be okay.

Maybe neither of them will ever be okay.

Dean drains the rest of his beer. Fishes out the keys from his pocket. "Hey. You mind driving? I could do with some shut-eye."

Sam frowns and catches the keys when Dean tosses them. "Uh. Sure."

"If that's cool with you," Dean adds, but he's already heading to the passenger side.

Sam nods, but Dean can see he's working something out. Sam slides into the driver's side and they're a minute down the road when he says, "Hey uh, Dean. How about we just stop for the night. Cool with you?"

Dean grins. "Cool with me."


End file.
